persequimur vos
by turntechBirdhead
Summary: Dean becomes aware that he may definitely harbour romantic intentions for his own father. Battling his own inner daemons, he falls deeper and deeper into self-loathing and confusion, unaware that John may very well be trying to cope with similar matters himself. John/Dean, father/son incest.
1. desiderium

The bar was filled with spirited chatter all around, but Dean couldn't find the will within himself to have the environment uplift his spirits. The young man focus drifted about from the freshly cleaned glass beer mugs hanging in the wooden cabinet, the condensation of his Budweiser glass trickling and cooling along his palm, and, occasionally up at one of the many flat-screens speckled about the bar.

Dean's eyes flitted back down to the bar in front of him quickly once he heard the thud of a full bottle hit the wood, and he was greeted with the charming face of the bartender, a woman with thick ringlets of black hair, and a very bountiful cleavage.

"Aah, just on time!" Dean pushed aside his ill feelings for the moment as he mustered up enough cockiness and good-humour to show his appreciation, a grin playing on his lips when he wraps a hand around the new bottle. The bartender returns his seductive smile with one of her own, a bit more mirth in it compared to Dean's attempt, as well as lacking in dimples, and she looks as if she were wanting to lean over to say something more to him, but another patron takes her attention and she continues along the bar to work.

Dean finally sighs once she turns away, shoulder's slumping, facade crumbling. He suspects that something exciting happened on a football game, or something, because he finds himself instinctively twitching at the sound, ready to turn on his feet and jump into action, albeit the movement is subtle.

"Too loud for ya?"

Dean whips his head towards the man who settled beside him at the bar, and slowly grins despite himself. He shakes his head at the smirking John, before finally taking a swig of his beer. "Nah. Too..." he makes a displeased face as he tries to recall the appropriate word, "_Alert_ for this sort of scene."

John nods sagely at his son's answer, looking down at the wood of the bar, before looking up to Dean and replying with a hint of a grin. "Figures that the only bar in town is a fucking sports pub. Always trouble."

At that answer, coupled with the way his father looked like absolute sin every time the man granted someone with a pleased expression and the giddy nerves Dean felt under the surface nearly every time the other man spoke to him, like his throat was tightening up, Dean chuckles in a rough tone. "A dive's much more my style, y'know?"

His father barks a laugh and purrs; "Definitely fittin'." The bartender comes by as Dean tries to hide his blushing face with a long draw of beer, and she asks John what's his poison for the night. John just opts with 'what he's got' coupled with a gesture to his son with an easy smile.

The bartender looks back over at Dean slightly inquisitively, and looking again like she wanted to speak to him, but continues back over to the stash of beer. John notices, files away the information, and asks Dean, much more gruffer than he intended, "Where's your brother?"

Dean turned sour at just the mention of his brother and scowled. John thinks he might have even caught his son attempting to fight off rolling his eyes, which, in turn, causes John to raise his brows, realising that this was slightly unusual. Dean sets down his beer a bit too hard and tightens his lips as he speaks. "Back at the motel. He's fine. 'Usually never comes with me to the bar unless there's a case involved with the place, anyways."

John makes a noise of acknowledgement at that, but doesn't have a chance to respond, as his beer arrives with less of a show than Dean's did, set upon the hard wood without any preamble. He takes a draw of Bud before giving Dean a questioning look that Dean recognises as the obvious; '_What did Sam get upset about now_?'

Dean hesitated momentarily, thinking that HE was the one that lost his cool over one simple, simple comment that shouldn't have even bothered him. Dean and Sam were having a good day with one another while their father was away to meet with a friend in town before regrouping with the brothers back at the motel, but Dean had been fretting a bit too much about John for Sam to deal with; Sam rolling his eyes with a "Do you really have to be so obsessed with Dad? I know you've got the foot-soldier routine down to a t, but c'mon, there's a fine line between protection and acting like a distressed wife, Dean." which shouldn't be bothersome but 'obsessed with Dad', 'distressed wife' kind of made his heart quicken in a bit of a panic; Dean didn't even realise he'd been asking about John off-handedly so much while they were hanging out. And the overkill was, at the lack of Dean's external response, Sam continued with "Dude, you really have to think for yourself sometimes instead of following every command-" which was basically a shorten quip at the long rant Sam already gave him but he was done, really done with this conversation and told his brother to fuck off before he simply just left the motel for a distraction, more mad at himself than he was at his brother. Dean had been seriously fighting an inner battle about John intensively over the last couple of weeks now, now that their father was back with them again, finally. Close quarters really riled feelings up heavily so Sam really picked a wrong time to poke the bear.

"'Got in a fight 'bout the laptop." Dean said tersely, knocking back his near-empty beer. He added afterward, "Somethin' about the last time I used it, the thing became virus city", and John nodded, believing the story.

"You should be more careful with that, then, Sam's computer can be very valuable source of information; we don't want it to get screwed up."

Dean seethed internally at how much of a child John was treating him, but replied with a serious mask of; "Yes, Dad."

At overhearing that, the bartender straightened slightly, and turned back to where John and Dean were at the bar. She'd gotten the vibe that they were a couple, what with their flirting she overheard earlier, but she'd deemed herself wrong once she hear 'Dad' be slung in the conversation. _Perhaps that was just their brand of humour_? Planting her hands on the bar, she gains Dean's attention, and smirks playfully at the young man.

Now Dean, Dean's mind is a whirlwind. It's obvious that this woman was interested in him. But here he was, right next to his father and- and-

God, it was a maddening situation. And not just then, no, the whole prospect of harbouring feelings for his own father was simply maddening. Dean wanted so desperately have John as his; but at the same time, grew sickened in himself for even thinking such. And sure, he liked women. Liked women a whole lot, but he found himself loving John even more than that. There were times here and there when Dean thinks that maybe, just maybe, the feeling was mutual, and it made Dean's heart sing with hope and fear. Venom and sugar.

Dean took the easiest route he knew. "Need somethin', miss?"

The bartender's smile grew before she bit down on her lip slightly, flipping open a blank sheet of paper in a tiny notebook. "Nope." She scribbles down her number on the white paper, ending with a flourish of ink, before ripping out the paper and outstretching it for Dean to take it. "But you probably do."

Dean playfully masks a bit of shock, and chuckles smoothly, instinctively, despite his nerves screaming at him, almost feeling like lead in his arms and too wild in his chest as he takes the paper before pocketing it. "I'd say you're right."

She laughs before being summoned to a table, her lingering hand on the bar swiped away slowly. Dean makes a point to stare at her as she walks away, going overkill on pushing away thoughts of John. Desperately wanting to be normal.

"That happen often?"

At the sound of John's voice, Dean whips his head over to his father to notice a stony face staring back at him. He instantly began being nervous again, but carried on with the plan he had put into place earlier with the bartender. "Of course, the ladies just absolutely love me."

John makes a derisive sound, like a condescending snort of a laugh, looking down at his beer before slipping out a; "Didn't know I raised my boy to be a whore."

And that was the breaking point. Dean couldn't fucking win; if he hit on his father, his father would most definitely just hit _him_, and Sam would hate him. If he pushed thoughts about John aside by going after countless women, then he'd lose not only the respect of the man he was in love with, but he'd lose the respect of his father. Dean felt a headache forming, nausea building, and his chest tightening at all the conflicting thoughts and feelings swirling about his conscience- he just needed to get out, now. Leave both options behind.

Dean digs into his pocket for his wallet, flipping it open hastily to pay both his and John's current tab. "Y'know what?" He says, flipping throught the bills, his stare intense in the brown wallet, away from his father, away from the bar. "If you honestly think that way then fine; have the rest of the night to yourself, I'm going back to the motel. Just can't do anythin' right without endin' up like a fucking screw-up, I'm done." He slams the money on the bar.

And that was probably the third time in Dean's 27 years did he ever talk-back to John, causing his dad to be utterly shocked and wholesomely worried. He almost opens his mouth to speak, but then Dean's gone, gone through the raucous crowd and out the door, and John looks down at his beer with heavy eyes and a heavy heart.

He wishes to go after Dean, but he's hurt him enough already, he surmises. Maybe in the morning. Maybe that'd be easier to bare, maybe it wouldn't.


	2. miserere mei

The door to the motel snaps open roughly, startling Sam from his reading, jerking his thoughts back to the present. Upon seeing his older brother barge in in something of a muted rage, Sam quickly opts for the defensive, supportive mode. After all, Dean was pretty mad for some reason after their conversation a couple hours ago.

"Hey- Dean-" Sam starts, but he doesn't quite know what to say when Dean ignores him and walks right past him. Sam calculates his options and walks after his brother. "Ah- Look, man, I'm really sorry that I got you mad, um, earlier." Dean pauses in his stride but otherwise doesn't respond to Sam's efforts.

Sam clasps a hand on Dean's shoulder in effort to connect with his brother better at this time. "Seriously. Whatever it was that I said that could have set this off, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that to you. And-and if you could tell me what I did, I'd appreciate it and I'll try not to do it again? Because-"

"Alright Sam,_ stop_." Dean barely raises his voice, but his anger and frustration is clear and Sam backs off his advances. "That's enough, just- leave me alone."

Sam looks almost sad as he looks on at his brother, clearly certain that Dean isn't fairing so well at all. "Dean-"

"I said enough!" Dean yells and instantly feels guilty and upset when he sees Sam flinch and- "Enough... please. Please." His green eyes fill over with tears and he holds his pounding forehead in stress, sadness, and aches. Dean nearly doubles over from the overwhelming emotional pain.

Sam's right there beside him to keep him upright, both mentally and physically. "Whoah, hey- hey- Dean, it's gonna be alright, calm down, please talk to me, Dean." Sam guides his brother over to the double bed that he and Dean had to share while their father was with them on the road. He gingerly pressures the crying, overwhelmed Dean to sit beside him, and to be honest, Sam's much, much more worried than he'll admit.

Sam listens to Dean's heaving sobs before he lifts his head up and says brokenly, "I don't know what to do, Sammy."

Sam's heart freezes up wondering all the implications that could mean: someone's hurt, he's hurt, someone will be hurt- it's extremely ambiguous. "About what, Dean? What's going on?"

"I don't know what to do." Dean very nearly wails._ I want to fuck my own father. Worse than that; I want to love my own father like he's the goddamn girl next door, the love of my dreams. And I don't know what to do._

Lost, but deeming that maybe the situation isn't dire per say, considering that Dean isn't jumping to save anybody, Sam continues his tries of support and understanding. "It's okay Dean, just-"

"I can't-" Dean finally looks his brother in the eye, showing his brother his weakness completely. "I_ can't_-"

Sam takes a deep breath and wraps his arms around his older brother, and he's mildly surprised to feel Dean cling to him desperately. Which was scary. Dean never, never showed such sadness, such pain, outright to anyone, not even Sam. But he had to be there for his brother, he'd be there to help Dean get through whatever he was dealing with.

Almost an hour pasts before Dean speaks again, his voice croaking and rough from sobbing. "It's not your fault."

This startles Sam, the sound of Dean's voice so suddenly. Sam was just thinking about how it was probably all his fault, too, so the 'invasion' of his thoughts also disturbed him, but it's obviously just because Dean knows him so well. That, and the fact that Sam kept asking and asking and worrying if it was his fault in the first place.

"It's my fault, Sammy." A tear glides down Dean's face and beneath his neck. "It's always my fault."

"Hey, shh, no-" Sam interjects, observing that his brother seems tired out from lack of sleep, beer consumption, and apparent grief, he gently just tries to back off from the discussion to maybe calm Dean down completely. He kneels down to unlace Dean's boots. "Don't say that. It'll be alright, it'll be okay, I promise you."

Dean lets out a tired, self-depreciating bark of a laugh as his head begins to loll upon his shoulder, drowsy as he watches Sam meticulously unlacing the strings. "You have no idea how deep in shit I am right now, Sammy. It won't be okay."

Sam tightens his lips before looking up at Dean. "Don't say that."

At the sternness, Dean realises that an argument could be brewing from this, so he opts to retire for the night, falling back into the bed. "I'll be up for a while if you need me," Sam states, but his brother is already either conked out or just too out of it to care.

The younger Winchester sighs and drags a hand down his face tiredly before sitting back down at the table and he stares at Dean for a bit in contemplation.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean feels a lot better once he wakes up, the spell of alcohol no longer a cause for fret. As he assesses the room, he spys his brother in front of the TV, and the scent of fresh hot fast food bread, bacon, and pancakes. As the sheets crumple in turn of Dean getting out of them, Sam turns to his older brother with a cheerful but worried smile. "Hey Dean." Sam gestures over to the food all wrapped up in greasy paper.

"Figured you'd need some food, you were so out of it last night you probably had drank on an empty stomach." Dean grimaces with his back turned away from Sam, remembering how he acted yesterday. He scoffs about it. "Yeah, you're right, I didn't." Dean unwraps one of the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits when his eye catches John's bed, completely undisturbed. "Where's Dad?" He asks, muffled slightly as he chews and curiously looks back at Sam.

"Oh. Uh." Sam starts, forgetting about the fact that he needed to break the news to Dean in a tactful way once he wakes up, until now. Dean raises an eyebrow. "He's gone."

"_Gone_?" And Sam bristles at the tone, knowing this was going to happen. "Dean-" At this, Dean abandons his food and stares at his brother with anger and incredibility.

"And you didn't think to wake me up for this?"

"Dean, you were completely out of it last night! I didn't want to make things worse!"

"Things are already worse, Sam!" Dean roars out, Sam hushing himself to allow Dean to maybe actually explain himself further about this whole situation. "He can't just leave. Not now."

"Alright, first of all," Sam begins, but changes course when he sees Dean start to hastily find his jeans, "Hey- no- stop."

Dean looks warily over at his brother and once he notices Sam's ultimately serious expression, he finally stops and calms down a bit. Sam immediately jumps to the elephant in the room: "What even happened in the first place, Dean? Yesterday afternoon?"

And at that, Dean nurses his aching, furrowed brow and purses his lips, thinking of what to even say. Sam stares at Dean in concern that he pushed this too far, until Dean swipes a hand through his spiked hair and lets out a breath. "My fault." Sam looks on at Dean in confusion, almost dumbstruck at the way his brother was acting.

"Okay, but, _how_, Dean?"

And Dean just finally turns around to look at Sam and merely shrugs. "It's just my fault, Sam. That's all you have to know. It's stupid."

Even though they weren't really getting anywhere in the conversation, Sam at least takes his brother's semi-willingness to talk as a good sign. "After last night's events, I'm not letting you run away from your problems this time."

At that, Dean lets out a self-depreciating bark of a laugh before saying under his breath: "But apparently Dad can."

Sam attempts to put the pieces together; Dean being mad that Dad left. Dad, when leaving last night, stating that it was for Dean's own good. Dean, a wreck when he came home. Dean, mad at Sam for bringing up Dad. After a long silence of Dean shuffling over to the table again to pick up his breakfast and Sam sorting through his thoughts, he asks confidently, albeit quietly, to his brother: "What happened between you and Dad, Dean?"

Dean bites back a bitter grin and opts to stare down at the table, at red and yellow, wrinkled papers, blotched with grease spots and crumbs. Sam can't see Dean's face, but knows he hit the mark. Now he just had to wait for Dean to finally tell the truth, however long that may take.

There's about a minute of silence until Dean abruptly breaks the pause. "Sam." Dean begins gruffly, almost startling his brother, "I-". Dean huffs out a breath. "I'm fightin' my inner daemons right now with everything I got. And nothing is working, man." Sam is silent even as his brother turns to actually look at him, desperate honesty painted upon Dean's features. "Nothin'."

"I really fucking hate to say it, but I'm literally at my brink, Sam." His voice breaks and waivers slightly, "'M being pulled apart. By myself of all things. I- I can't fix it all myself if I'm fighting _me_, that's just like exchanging battle plans with the enemy. I fucked up, Sam. _I'm_ fucked up. Real bad. And I can't do a single goddamn thing about it, which scares me. I can't keep fighting with this every day."

By this point, tears are softly curving down Dean's cheeks, and Sam has to pick his words very, very carefully. He absorbs what Dean has given him, the honesty and ripe pain, and sighs softly, hurting with his brother. "Dean... even after all of that, you still haven't given me a clue as to what's going on-" and at that, Dean's eyes widen a bit in worry that he'll have to spill even more feelings and emotion, and Sam quickly, worriedly raises his voice in attempt to dissuade that aspect of the situation, putting his hands up in front of him in a subtle surrender, "And-and I don't _need_ to know what's going on if you don't wanna tell me. But, I don't know, if it's... something that you can't fix, and trying to fix it makes this whole situation even worse... maybe it doesn't need to be fixed?"

Dean huffs out a breath and quickly dismisses the idea, wiping away drying tears. "That'll never work."

At being put aside so quickly, Sam leans back into the couch with his arms outstretched in incredulity. "Have you even tried?"

Recalling the time at the bar and all those tiny moments to which something sparked within him about the way he and his father acted towards each other, Dean feels more than slightly stressed. "Kinda, yeah," he states quietly, honestly. "I mean, it's- kinda, kinda small things, but nothing really like, super substantial, super-positive, or anything."

Sam can clearly tell that Dean is worried, mumbling and stumbling over his words about it, so he tries to push upon the support aspect than the understanding aspect. "Well, Dean, what's honestly the worst that could come out of it, then?"

Dean purses his lips again in thought._ Dad's already gone again, probably won't come back again, he just leaves all the time. How badly could I screw it up? Better to have closure than worrying for the rest of my life._ "Sammy... I think you're right."

Sam looks pleasantly surprised at his brother, but also glad that he was able to help out.

"Oh, well, that's-that's good. So what are you going to do about it?" he says as Dean strides across the room to put his jeans on again, but Dean just merely flashes a grin at his brother.


	4. grave ánimam

Dean drives well into the night, stopping through any and all bar parking lots or the occasional motel parking lot in search for John's truck down the interstate. Dean figures his father hasn't gone too far, considering the beginnings of a possible hunt they were scouting about in this region.

His stomach is a mess of knots even as he listens to the calming, caressing voice of Robert Plant singing the opening lyrics of Stairway to Heaven, and Dean almost feels carsick for the first time in his life, upon even focusing on the drive.

Dean drives by a Waffle House and figures that a motel on Dad's impromptu budget would be somewhere close.

And to his luck, there's a Super 8 adjacent from a run-down local bar about five minutes down the road of the Waffle House, and an old model, black, GMC Sierra was parked in the Super 8 lot. Part of Dean hoped for coincidence, that someone else had such an overbearingly badass truck, and the other part hoped and ached that he found his father.  
He stares on for a while before pulling into the gas station across the street, parks the Impala in the shadows by the BP Station and its garbage bin, and begins his way to the Super 8. He figures his dad would recognise the engine of their car in a heartbeat and bolt, so Dean plays it safe so he's able to snag John a bit more easily.

Dean settles himself to lurk by the motel door of the residence directly in front of wear the truck was parked. After about 15 minutes or so, he plans on making a small rucus outside the door to attract John's attention if he was in his room, but he spies John across the street of the Super 8, striding out of the bar.

He definitely feels nervous, and he lets out a gust of air, feeling like he got kicked in the gut a bit upon seeing his father. But Dean remembers Sam's advice, that it's now or never, and Dean forcibly wills himself to not bolt, but to steady himself against the wall and his eyes smolder upon John's person.

Once John gets rather close to entering the truck, Dean lets loose a gravly call of "Dad."

John is visibly startled at the sudden voice, even more so secretly startled and nervous that it was Dean's voice, he asks, "Dean? What are you doing here?"

Dean pushes off from the wall and suddenly feels kind of mad as he walks up to his father. "I should be asking you the same thing."

John pauses and stares down at his son for a long time before sighing and looking away from Dean. He shuffles to the driver's door of the truck, figuring a quick getaway is the best solution to the problem, but Dean quickly strides over to the passenger's side and catches his chance to stop John.

He stares down at the steering wheel as he hears Dean close the other door, and John doesn't even bother putting the keys in the vehicle now that his son has invaded his vehicle. John looks over at Dean grimly. "Why did you follow me." It wasn't even a question.

Instantly, Dean fires back with: "Why did you leave me." _Shit, I didn't mean to say-_

"Dean." John begins, focusing upon the motel door in front of the truck rather than who he was adressing. "'M not a good a father. I tried to be." Dean gives John a look of confusion, he being the devout follower to his dad, hearing blasphemy about John from John's own lips. He quietly explains with a cover-up; "Got you all upset at the bar." But really he mostly feels like a failure of a father because of how he secretly felt about his son. Dean didn't have to know that.

At Dean's further confusion, John just shrugs and continues. "Better off without me, y'know?"

And at that, Dean's heart sinks, thinking of all the things he wants to say to that, or what he shouldn't say. Dean's heart breaks when John gives him a grim smile.

"Dad, you haven't done anything wrong." And John could almost sneer at himself at hearing that. "It's my own... problems and shit that's kinda fucking up our family dynamic."

That choice of phrasing really perplexes John. It takes him a minute or so to reply. "I could just leave if this 'problem'," his father kind of raises an eyebrow about the word before continuing, "Isn't something you're willin' to sort out for yourself, or, whatever you want, I guess."

This was the moment he couldn't hide from himself any longer. Dean closes his eyes and tips his head into the the headrest of the truck. _Christ, it's seriously now or never, isn't it? How do I even say it_-

His thoughts are disrupted when he feels his father's eyes resting upon him tentively. "Dean, really, maybe you and Sam can just handle things on your own from now on." And Dean's heart freezes up and this is it he has to-

"No." Dean whispers brokenly, startling John.

He turns to look at his father, his green eyes shimmering from unshed tears, almost sparkling with the bathe of moonlight, his lips parted, wanting to speak, but having no words because of heartbreak and fear, and in that instant, John is almost breathtaken by his son's beauty. A tear rolls down Dean's cheek, his brow furrowing before looking away from John. "No."

At the sight of his son crying and apparently put this way because of him, John has no idea how to even approach and react to these mixed signals. The only thing he can think to do is to stare at his son's form in concern until he realises his son is edging closer and closer until his leather jacket is pressed up against his own, and John takes that as invitation that yes, Dean needs his father's comfort right now, needs to know it'll all be alright. John wraps an arm around his son and Dean immediately clings to him, his arms around John's neck, burrowing his face in the crook of his father's neck, savouring the warmth, scent, and feel of his father around him. Just in case it may be too late to ever experience this again. Too late to even ever think of experiencing this again.

The close contact weighs down on John's soul, the struggle to touch too much, to love too much, aflame. After a few moments of hesitation, he matches Dean's desperate hold and wraps both arms around Dean's waist. To any possible passerbys, it definitely looked like a distraught lovers' embrace. Dean could nearly fall asleep then and there, intoxicated by his father's prescence. He felt like he was melting away, like he didn't need to worry about anything anymore.

John notices that Dean is much, much more relaxed than he was earlier, and pulls back slightly to check on Dean, to see if his assumptions that he was fully alright was true. At the shift of contact, Dean peers up at his father but otherwise holds his ground on John, nearly on his lap.

Dean, positively languid and in his element now that he's all calmed down, whispers half-purposefully, half-accidentally, a gruff call of "Dad", and damn if that wasn't a kick in John's gut, that boy was to be the death of him.

"You alright now, Dean?" John asks steadily. He's totally freaked out inside.

Neither of them have moved and are wrapped up in each other even though they realise its no longer a necessary comfort.

"I need to tell you something." Which was all Dean had to say in reply to his father's question, almost seemingly mirthful in his statement, which befuddled John, considering the whiplash in mood.

"A- alright." John curses inwardly for stuttering, _What the fuck John what are you doing what's wrong with you-_

Dean leans in and molds his lips against his father's for a couple seconds before pulling back only slightly. He looked almost bashful to John's eyes, or that may have been a trick of the moon's light. Regardless, his heart is racing. His son has kissed him. The son he's fantasised over for years. The struggle he'd had to endure to not touch, for years. But this was his son. He couldn't.

"Dean," he begins roughly, choosing his words carefully. "I'm your father."

"I know that. In fact, I've know that for a very long time, Dad." And really, of course Dean would be unfazed and joking around in this situation, now that he's caught John completely off his game. Secretly, he's just as confused and scared as John is right now. "And I've just recently found out that I just don't fucking care."

John lets out a gust of breath in shock that he didn't know he was holding, and by doing so he also realises that he was clutching onto Dean's waist still, his grip more powerful in anxiety. Dean also realises this too, and shifts so he's lightly straddling his father, his back against the steering wheel.

"Please, Dad."

And John wants this too, he really does. But he can't. He shouldn't. And-

Dean grinds his hips down slightly, letting his father know for damn sure that this is what he wants. "I know you want this, too." Which was a gamble on Dean's part to say, but he could only hope that that was the persuasion he needed.

It was John's boiling point, really, and he swoops in and feverishly begins kissing Dean, causing his son to give a surprised grunt and press all of his weight down on his father: his growing, straining erection a heavy weight atop John's own, his chest pressed tightly against John's, the buttons of John's plaid shirt digging into Dean's thin tshirt, their mouths, roaving and roaming heatedly. John slides he tounge into Dean's mouth, causing his son to to lean into John as much as he possibly could, and roughly carasses Dean's clashing tounge until Dean's vibrations of moaning is felt through the kiss by John. He desperately ruts against his father, his libido on overdrive at the prospect of This Finally Happening.

At Dean's wanton display of a plea for friction, John pulls away and slides his hands down to firmly grasp at his son's denim-clad ass, throughly enjoying the jerk of surpise and arousal Dean gave against him. John bites down on his lip semi-conciously and smothers down Dean with his dark stare as a sign of encouragement, and he rocks down against his father fast and rough, almost uncomfortably so in their jeans, the truck squeaking in protest each time Dean grinds against John, his moans needy- and loud.

"We need to take this somewhere else," John states, holding Dean's waist again to stop him from alerting too much attention to the truck, concious of their surroundings. But to this, Dean defiantly arches to press down firmly against John's own erection, causing his father's eyes to flutter a bit. Dean strips himself of his shirt and tosses it aside, the cotton slapping against fogged glass, as he continues his movement upon his father. After doing so, Dean re-anchors himself in a better postion on his father's lap, his legs tightly, powerfully, against John's own, and he grinds slowly, but purposefully against his father. Breathily, he begs: "fuck me".

John very nearly snarls as he pushes up roughly against Dean's grind, the action causing Dean to almost yelp, and he moans, "Now. Fuck me now, please, Dad, _please_."

His father groans at how sinfully, deliciously eager Dean is. They're going straight to Hell. "Baby, it's probably best if we take this indoors."

But Dean is almost delirious in need, and he frantically shake his head. "I need you right now, right here, please, Daddy, please-"

And at the call of 'daddy', something awakens and brews within John, pushing Dean back so he can gain access to his fly. "You need it that badly?" he says gruffly as he pops the button. "You need me to fuck you so badly, you can't even get off of me?" And his son just moans as he hears John's zipper slide down, and in turn Dean props himself against the wheel slightly to allow John to be able to slide his jeans down.

John lets out a huff of a laugh, his voice rumbling and almost drenched with sex itself. "Can't even do anything yourself now, boy?" And he takes Dean's 'offering' of lifted hips to unbutton and unzips his son's jeans. "Commando?" John says in mock curiousity at what he see and he grasps Dean's cock, staring his son dead in the eyes.

Dean tries to chuckle, but it comes out more of a wheeze than anything, his eyes threating to roll back- "Let's just say I had high hopes coming out there."

John slides his son's jeans all the way off and down to the truck below, the denim mingling with the gas pedal and brake. He admires the view below him for a moment, the tantilising, throbbing cock, the beautifully, freckled and flushed face of his son. As he's pulling down his own boxers, John growls down at Dean: "I'm gonna fuck you until the shocks give out on us."

Dean groans and grinds his dick against his father's abdomen, the coarse hairs tickling against the underside of his sex, impatient. "So far you've been all talk, Dad- show me."

John raises an eyebrow, humouring Dean, before presenting his fingers afore his son's mouth. "Suck," he commands, and instantly Dean's perfectly puffy lips wrap around the flesh, slurping and sucking at two of his father's fingers eagerly.

"Fuck you're just beautiful," John heaves out, and Dean's eyes flutter open at the praise to intently stare into John's eyes, showing off for his father now as if he were sucking cock rather the digits he was to penetrated with, causing John to bite at his lip softly in lust and need for what he was viewing.

He soon removes his fingers and Dean shivers and licks his lips at the pop his mouth produces. He instantly decides he wants to keep his mouth at further use, and kisses his father again, their mouths' wet and sloppy from Dean's still salvating mouth. John props an arm behind Dean's head at the wheel as their mouths slip around each other hungerily, and to Dean's surprise, one of John's wetted fingers slip up into his hole. Dean jerks back out of the kiss and gasps deliciously as the small burn and consistancy of the finger slides up in him. John smirks down at Dean and, with some resistance from the hole, wedges in another finger within him. Dean squirms, hips gyrating slowly to get used to it, when his father changes up the pace and delibrately slides the fingers in and out of Dean, fucking him open with his fingers.

Dean's mouth drops at the burn, and god does it feel good. "D- Dad, please, I need your cock," he breathes out desperately.

John isn't one to deny his son anything he asks for, and without hesitation he quietly replies: "Yes, baby."

Once John's cock begins to breech his hole, Dean's mouth falls completely slack and his brow tenses up, and even though John has admired his son's beauty before now, he can definietly say that this was the most beautiful sight of all he has ever seen. By the time he's in to the hilt, Dean is already trembling and begging: "Fuck me, Dad, please, fuck me already." He's almost crying in need.

At his son's request, he pumps up into Dean and each rough thrust causes Dean to moan out, spurring John on to fuck his son even faster- and harder.

"Oh, oh, god- oh, fuck-" he cries out, his father steadily pumping into this son, before stopping a moment and shifting in his seat to sink down lower, and then he thrusts up into Dean and the result is magnificent, albeit a bit taxing on his own lower back. Dean screams out at John's experimentaly new thrusts, causing his father to growl and fuck into Dean with renewed vigor.

Dean is now just a mess of guttoral cries, peppered with exclaimations of "oh FUCK, Dad- DAD-" and John's breathing and low groans are dwarfed by the sounds of Dean's crooning, coupled with the noise of balls slapping up against Dean's backside.

John holds off upon coming until he feels Dean begin to tremble and shake, his muscles straining in need to release, soon, graspin upon the wheel behind him in attempt for more leverage for his prostate, and that's when John shifts and bends up, his back firmly against the inner hood of the truck, bending and holding Dean over in the process to the point that his feet are almost against John's face and John slams into Dean with more and more force, causing his son to claw against his back until Dean is coming onto John's chest, loud, whining moans exploding from his lungs.

The sounds and the thought of pushing his son over the edge, coupled with the clenching and unclenching of Dean's walls from the release, John finally buries himself in Dean ball's deep, roughly, causing his son to let out one last groan as the hot sticky seed rests within him.

John slides back, taking Dean with him, his son lying against his chest as he sits in the driver's seat, his pants and boxers pooling around his ankles, and his dick wiliting slowly within Dean.

As Dean regains his breath, his son looks up at him, a devious twinkle in his tired, green eyes, and he asks in a fucked-out voice that gives John's cock a little interested, but futile twitch: "The cops out there for us?"

John chuckles and runs a hand against Dean's close-cropped hair fondly. "I reckon they'd be here already if they're gonna be here, but I gotta say I'm honestly surprised that they ain't- I didn't expect you to be a crooner, boy."

Dean merely gives his father a dirty smile. "'Expect'? You think about this often?"

John doesn't dignify that with an answer, just a tired huff of a chuckle that Dean more felt than heard, cradled against his father's chest.


End file.
